Page 87 of High Season

“What should I do differently then?”

He picks up another stone.

“Stay,” he says, simply. “Not just for a bit, while you’re sorting outunfinished business. Stay for good.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Why not? Gabby and Calvin want you here.”

“Just Gabby and Calvin?”

“You’re really going to make me say it?”

She tilts her head to one side. He groans, mock-defeated.

“Look, I don’t want to put pressure on you,” he says. “I wouldn’t ask you to stay just for me.”

He tosses the stone. This time it’s a perfect skim, the flat rock bouncing against the surface.

“But since you said it first,” he says. “I like you, too. I like you a lot.”

There’s a beat of stillness. Within it, Josie sees the last ten years of her life. All the different places and people. All the times she has left. All the times she’s gone looking for safety, and found only the ground giving way beneath her again.

Nic is right. Even change becomes monotonous, after a while. The same process of leaving, of starting over. The same worries, and regrets. The same hopes that get dashed again and again. Maybe it really is time for Josie to do things differently.

Her fingers graze Nic’s leg. She doesn’t think too much. She doesn’t wonder if this is the start of something, or the end.

He turns his head toward her, and she leans into him. Her mouth meets his.

It’s one of those rare moments where Josie Jackson feels as if she is exactly where she is supposed to be.

When Josie wakes the next morning, she is alone.

She must have fallen asleep without meaning to, Nic’s T-shirt twisted around her body, the smell of him on her skin. The scent takes her back to last night. How they had come back to his flat and drank coffee on his sofa. Talked for a long time. How, eventually, they had kissed again, slowly this time, his hand on the side of her face. How Josie had wanted him in a way that felt large andcomplicated, and clean and focused all at once. The scale and simplicity of her desire.

They had taken their time undressing each other, uncovering each new contour of skin, hands tracing new curves and corners like explorers sketching out a map of new territories. Nic had kissed her collarbone, her hip, the sharp indent between her throat and shoulder. When he was inside her, he had intertwined one hand with hers and pressed it down hard against the mattress. To Josie, it felt like they were drowning, submerged, clinging to each other as they reached for the surface.

In some ways, Josie feels as if she has been underwater since the day Tamara died. Now, she takes a deep breath, and is struck by the distinct sensation that she is back above air again.

She pulls on her jeans and opens the door to the living room. Nic is already at the stove, brewing coffee in a battered moka pot.

“Morning,” he says. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah.” She feels slightly dazed at how natural this feels.

“It’s a beautiful morning,” Nic says. “If you go and sit out on the balcony I’ll bring this out?”

“Actually,” Josie says. “There’s something I wanted to ask you first.”

“Ask away.”

It feels so easy, and yet Josie knows that now she must make things hard. She must make things hard, so that she can make them better again.

“You said last night that Hannah’s back,” she says.

She sees him stiffen. She has to go on.

“Can you talk to her for me?” she says. “Can you ask if she’ll see me?”